<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Wade Johnson and the Naglis Apartments by Mangabaka777</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262163">Wade Johnson and the Naglis Apartments</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangabaka777/pseuds/Mangabaka777'>Mangabaka777</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wade Johnson Series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Drug Use, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder Mystery, Other, Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, References to Depression, Suicide, Thriller, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:27:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangabaka777/pseuds/Mangabaka777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade Johnson, after losing his wife and daughter to murder, developed an addiction to alcohol and lost his job as a policeman. Now as a P.I., his old squad mate calls him to investigate mysterious events surrounding an Apartment Complex.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wade Johnson Series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wade Johnson and the Naglis Apartments</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>***DISCLAIMER***</p><p>This series contains violent, dark and mature themes that include:<br/>-Drug use<br/>-Profanity<br/>-Alcoholism<br/>-Depression<br/>-Suicide<br/>-Blood and Gore<br/>-Prostitution<br/>-Human Trafficking<br/>-Emotional/Mental Instability<br/>-Death<br/>-Trauma</p><p>***READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED***</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Case File:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>10/24/20XX 12:47:36</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Officer's Tyries and Cobolte still have not returned. They accessed the apartment complex at 0500 hours, and the last communication from them was at 05:15. Then, nothing. Body signatures: lost. Cameras: Disconnected. This is the third group of officers to go M.I.A. in this building. Who gets lost in an apartment complex? There's a total of 25 apartments inside: 15 One-beds and 10 2-beds. Six officers should be more than enough to pick up SOMETHING inside that building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The complex was cleared for demolition four months ago, but all attempts to destroy it have gone awry. What's worse, anyone that has gone inside the complex since the first attempt has gone missing inside. With people vanishing into the air like steam off my coffee cup, My unit is going to look like a joke. My old partner once suspected this building to be connected to multiple crimes, but that was years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm afraid that, since the Glass-Eye case, Wade Johnson just has not been the same. My heart goes out to the guy, it truly does. His desire to always find the truth, even in the worst of times, truly made him a man among men. Since his absence from the force, I hear he has attempted to find work as a P.I. Honestly, a waste of his talents, but at least he can drink as he pleases now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ha... seems I'm talking about him in my reports again. Still, I could really use his help again.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>...In fact, I think I could really use a Professional Investigator to look in on this case. Someone not held back by the book, and able to do whatever he can to get the job. I'll see what his fees are if he can save this one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-Lieutenant Leroy S. Arinth</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade Johnson’s Office:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>10/24/20XX 13:37:19</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade Johnson was watching the smoke of his cigarette slowly rise into the air. A stereo crackling some off-beat punk rock as a fan rotates slowly. He taps the cherry into his ashtray and puts out his cigarette, exhaling one last puff of smoke before getting up to open a window. He looks out and monitors the clouds rolling in the distance. "Huh, it looks like rain tonight." he said aloud to himself as he opened one of his three liquor cabinets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a second look out the window and sees a police officer entering his building. Cursing under his breath, he gets two glasses out and fills them with ice. One glass had straight whiskey, the other filled one part whiskey, two parts water for his guest. As if on cue, he places the glasses on his desk as a knock arrives at his door. "Come in." Wade says, his tone low and gruff as always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door is opened, and the officer struts right into the chair opposite of Wade. Removing his hat and slicking back his hair, he looks to Wade, takes the glass and smiles. "You always seemed to know when I was arriving, Johnson." The officer sipped at the Whiskey, pouting a bit when he realized Wade diluted it for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "Well, being subtle was never your strong-suit Leroy," Wade chuckled, "or should I call you Corporal Arinth now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lieutenant, but Leroy works just fine, old friend." Leroy said as he knocked back the drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade took a good chug of his own glass, smacked his lips and rubbed his scruff. "Easy officer, you're on the clock, and came here needing my help, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy normally would chuckle at this, but his expression instead turned serious as he looked Wade in the eyes. Wade looked back, his own eyes dead in expression, no longer smiling himself. "Cut the crap, what are you really here for?" Wade sat down and took another sip of his whiskey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy frowned and rubbed his temples, "Straight to the point, even with an old friend? Fine then." He pulled out a file and tossed it across the desk at Wade. "Looks like you were right to have a hunch about the Naglis Apartments."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade scoffed and scowled, "You don't say?" He snarked as he read the file. His expression only got darker as he read the case file. "Well... Ten known missing-people cases in three weeks alone..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy looked at him, first ashamed, then calm again, "and that's where you come in." Leroy started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade cleared his throat, "You're sick of losing your own men to a case I tried to start time and time again. So, rather than risk your current position by sending in more of your own men, you call a washed-up ex-cop that had interest in this case, hoping you can coax him to go in and either solve it, to your benefit, or work as another M.I.A. statistic to get the higher-ups to send you more men." He finished, knocking back his whiskey and standing up, going to a workbench filled with firearm parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy jumped at this and yelled at him, "I am here to call the help of an old friend in the hopes of solving this case, and what I need is not back-up, but a man I can trust will actually bring this case to justice!" Leroy lost his temper while Wade was fumbling tools on his workbench, "What I want is for you to look as alive as you did when Gabrielle and Theresa were here!!" Leroy turned red, then pale in realization of what he had just said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade stopped moving at the names of his late wife and daughter. "...I'm as alive as thirty-five can get from the bottom of a bottle, Leroy." he spoke low, and cold as he loaded and cocked his favorite handgun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade was loading magazines as his friend sulked silently behind him, ashamed of his own words. "Y'know..." Wade started, discreetly filling multiple flasks with the whiskey he just sipped at, and hiding them inside his trenchcoat on the side opposite of the magazines, "...if you wanted me to help with the case, all you had to say was that we were investigating those apartments." He finished, grabbing a couple packs of cigarettes and donning his gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy looked up in surprise as Wade was fully dressed and patting his shoulder. "I ride shotgun skippy. We'll talk about my fees after the case is solved."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do I get an Officer's discount, or Best-friend discount?" Leroy joked</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, a special sale," Wade started, "I'll only charge you full-price."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Naglis Apartments</span>
</p><p>
  <span>10/24/20XX 14:54:26</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade and Leroy arrived on the scene, cloud's rolling ever darker as a rumble echoed in the air. "Well, the weatherman didn't say anything about a storm..." Leroy groaned as he stood up and straightened his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotta watch the skies Leroy," Wade started, "Weather man wouldn't know high-pressure from high-pleasure without his machines telling him what the weather is supposed to be."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The duo chuckled softly as one of the officers on standby approached Wade with caution. "Lieutenant, there have been no signs or changes in your absence." the newbie reported in. "Also... who is this fellow, sir?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is Wade Johnson, one of the fine-" Leroy started before Wade punched him in the side to shut him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm a P.I., the name's Wade, and this schmuck took me off the Whiskey-a-gogo to be clean-up. That's all you need to know, Greenhorn." Wade lit a cigarette and walked around to survey the perimeter, leaving the rookie with a flabbergasted expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy gathered himself and his remaining crew to collect what intel he could while Wade checked around the demolition equipment. None of the machines were faulty, and the tools all looked brand-new. Wade scratched his chin in thought, puffing away from the evidence, and resuming his examination of the area. The parking lot and nearby roads were closed off, and the pavement, while somewhat cracked, was still smooth enough to drive on. No dips, no potholes, nothing. There was absolutely no reason for any machines or tools to fail. "So... what's stopping them from the demolition?" Wade pondered aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy smiled as his old-friend quickly went to work on his own investigation. "Alright team, if my friend here has any questions, I want you to answer them honestly. He's here to help us bring this case to an end, and deserves the utmost respect for his work." The rookies looked amongst each other, not quite sure what to make of Wade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade turned to the squad, dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. "Welp, no time like the present." He turned and walked to the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"W-wait! You're just going in?!" Leroy started</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well yeah, that IS what I am here for, right Lieutenant?" Wade looked to his old friend. "No offense, but I am already sure that you guys picked up the same information I did, the only new information was in the file you showed me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade came back and patted Leroy on the shoulder. "Now, be a good shephard and watch your sheep, little Bo-Peep." Wade turned once more and made tracks for the front door of the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rookies stood, dumbfounded at the tone this stranger took with their Lieutenant, who was chuckling at his friend. "You always had to take jabs at me, didn't you, Corporal Johnson?" Leroy muttered under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Wade entered the building, the sky only became darker, and the rumbling louder. Rain finally began to fall as Wade opened the door and went inside. He tried to look around from the entrance, but not a light was to be found. This didn't surprise him, the building was due to be demolished after all. It would be more surprising if the building actually had utilities still running. Wade took one good look at his watch while he still had some light. As he did, the weather took a turn for the worst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, thunder and lightning were roaring across the sky, rain was becoming a torrential downpour, and the winds were blowing up pebbles off the ground. He pulled out his cellphone and walked back to the door, "Hey Leroy! Get your men out of here, N-" But before he could finish, lightning struck the entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a blur of seconds, the door and entrance collapsed as Wade was sent flying into the hallway. Wade laid on the floor as everything went dark.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>302:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade groaned in pain as he regained consciousness. He slowly lifted himself off the floor and rubbed his head, trying to recall what happened. His head was throbbing from the sudden flash of lightning, but he slowly remembered. His old friend gave him a case, he began investigating the building, and now his phone had no reception and his watch cracked in the fall he just took.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got to his feet, grabbed a flask and took a swig of whiskey before trying to walk, cussing as he walked off the ache in his legs. He took his lighter out and looked for something he could light, but to no avail. He found himself in the hall where the first floor of apartments begins. He turned through the hall carefully, the floorplan of the building etched in his memory. If he could get to the basement, maybe he could find an emergency generator to light up the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he stumbled to the basement door, he rattled the doorknob, but no such luck. It wasn't locked, it was jammed. "For the love of-" Wade stomped in frustration, "I just want some damn light!!' He shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, a light started at the other end of the hall. Wade blinked in disbelief, but then another lit, and another, and another. the lights were turning on slowly as if something was approaching him. Something he could not see. A cold sweat ran down the back of Wade's neck as he readied his pistol and aimed it straight down the hall. "Who's there?! I am armed!" He threatened, but the unknown presence just came closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the whole building was lit once more. Wade was struggling to maintain his composure, but slowly made his way back to the entrance. As he turned in, he could not believe his eyes. There was a wall where the door used to be. "This... am I going insane?" he asked himself aloud. "If I didn't know any better, I'd have to call this some of that paranormal Bull." He shook his head at the notion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled out a cigarette and attempted to light it, but the lighter went out as it neared the end of his cigarette. "What the..." He fumbled with the lighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would light just fine until it neared the cigarette. He tried to light it three times before noticing a well-lit sign in the hall:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No Smoking allowed in the hallways.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade looked at the sign, then tried lighting his cigarette one last time. Still no luck. "Well shoot, SOMEONE has a sense of humour!" He snarked,  throwing the cigarette into a trash bin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat down and thought about his current situation, realizing he has two ways to pursue this case now: either assume someone is playing a HIGHLY elaborate prank on him, or accept that this building may very well be haunted. Either way, there was definitely a presence here with him. "For now," He muttered aloud, "best look around and see what I can find, I suppose."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started walking down the hall, he went door-to-door, trying every door knob he could. He saw a speaker in each corner of the hall, and smirked. "Could also go for some music, some food and a pretty lady!" He shouted loud and clear enough to echo in the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To this, the building only gave him silence. Wade clicked his tongue, "Worth a shot I guess." he muttered as he finished trying doors on the first floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ascending the stairs, he tried the apartments on the second floor. Once again, none of them opened. He climbed up the steps one more time, keeping track of all the doors. As he reached the top floor, he could hear music playing from one of the apartments. He blinked in surprise, making his way to the apartment at the end of the hall. When he tried the door, this time it opened easily. At the other side of the door, he readied his gun out of habit and made his way to the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing there was a mannequin, clothed in a lovely blue dress, leggings and boots. It was holding a plate with a fresh burger and fries on it. "What in the name of..." He picked up the burger as his stomach growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffed it, then gave it a test-bite. No Poisons. Normally, he would avoid this, but the poor man had no idea when his last meal was. Hunger taking over his rational thought, he finishes the meal, nodding politely to the mannequin. "Thank you, fair lady." He chuckled, and took the plate. He found the kitchen and set it on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around the rest of the apartment, and found the music had been coming from a stereo in the master bedroom. Aside from the mannequin and food, nothing really was out of place. After a moment, he heard the kitchen sink turn on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon leaving the master bedroom, he made his way to the kitchen quickly. The sink had turned off before he could enter the kitchen, armed and aiming. There in the kitchen was the mannequin from before. The plate he placed on the counter had now been washed clean, drying on a nearby dishrack. "Well... thanks?" Wade was officially so tired of the situation that he temporarily lost his sarcastic tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made his way to the door to leave the apartment, but when he tried to open the door, it had been locked. Reaching to undo the lock, he noticed the locks were on his side of the door, and worse, were not done. "So... I can't leave yet, huh?" He pulled out a flask and sipped it, beginning to cope with his dilemma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned around and found the apartment to be in absolute shambles compared to how it looked when he first walked in. The wallpaper had been torn at with a knife, there was a bloodstain scattered across the floor, and the mannequin was slumped in a corner with a broad-bladed knife shoved hard in its throat. Oddly enough, the scene looked surprisingly familiar to him. He looked around once more and scratched his head as the memory finally came to him. "Now I remember... four years ago, a wife killed her husband after he had been found cheating on her, then she went on a hysterical frenzy before killing herself. That was here, wasn't it?" Wade recalled the case, and heard a click behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was now open.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>304:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade exitted the apartment, and the door slammed shut behind him. A Scorched "X" sealed the door shut, denying him any chance of returning to Apartment 305. He looked around and saw it was not the only door with that mark. He counted three doors on the top floor that were now sealed this way. Deciding to scope the situation, he went downstairs, and found another four doors had been sealed, then finally the main floor where seven doors were sealed off. He pulled out a hand journal and pen, writing down the apartments that were not sealed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>103, 107, 108, 202, 301 and 304.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was starting to piece this together, and honestly made the situation a tinge brighter. "So... I pick an apartment, solve the crime involved with it, and once I have solved them all, I get to go?" Wade said aloud, testing to see if something was still listening to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, the speakers in each hall played the sound of a bell ringing. Wade rubbed his head, and finished the first of his flasks, muttering to himself. "Until then, this place is just gonna keep screwing with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh track played on the speakers in response to that one, which only annoyed Wade further. "Well... now I know someone is actually listening to me." He started as he stood up, raising a middle finger in the air. "I swear, you're soooooo dead when I find you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speakers replied with canned "whoo's," wolf whistles and catcalls. Wade was gonna snark again, then he realized he's having an argument with a speaker. So, he sighed and made his way back up the stairs, decided it would be best to work his way down to the exit. The sooner he was out of this madhouse, the better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he was back on the third floor, he made his way to apartment 304 and tried the doorknob. To his surprise, it opened easily this time, and he found himself in the middle of a pitch-black apartment. Once he closed the door, it immediately locked behind him, and then the lights turned on. "I knew it..." Wade groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked on to a disgusting apartment, filled with trash, liquor bottles and discarded ashes across the floor. Seems whoever was here was quite the indulgent one. With a sniff of the air, Wade recognized the smell all too well: Marijuana. It was a bit off, but no mistaking that funky, herbal odor. "So, my next case is a drug-bust..." He said, taking a chance at lighting a cigarette for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, he was able to have a smoke easily, and gave a shudder in relief as he enjoyed what felt like his first smoke in ages. He took an ashtray, and scooped up some of the ashes from the floor. He then took a second ashtray, thoroughly cleaned it, and used it for the ashes of his own cigarette. He put the two ash-trays side-by-side and examined them carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The differences were subtle, but sure enough, the ashes of his cigarette were finer, as the smoked substance was smaller in size, and factory-packed. The ashes on the floor were in bigger clumps. Normally, one would need a microscope to truly differentiate the two, but once you've busted enough dealers, you learn to pick up the minor differences without one. Still, the ashes were different than what he recognized. "Huh... I can at least tell these were hand-rolled..." Wade muttered out loud as he made his way back to the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As has been happening before, the living room he entered was not the one he just left. Now it was clean, organized and filled with antiques and knick-knacks that were definitely worth a good price to the right seller. Wade calmly walked in, becoming used to the sudden, drastic changes of his environment. Observing the room, he found that most of the new property had come from Latin-culture. His multi-cultural studies were a bit rusty, but he managed to narrow it down in the simplest way possible. "Let's see..." Wade lifted the first item he saw with a tag on it, "aaaaand, 'Made in Mexico.'" He read aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, whoever owned this apartment went from being an addict to being a dealer, and had a love of Mexico. He took this knowledge and went back to where he had the ashes. The ashtrays in the kitchen had been removed, and the kitchen was now fully stocked. "Oh, COME ON!" Wade stomped his foot in frustration, "Can you NOT take my evidence away, you damn... whatever you are?!" He growled at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade walked to the bedroom, and found it was also clean and neat as well. Well, it was clean until a certain agitated P.I. appeared. He began pulling shelves out of dressers, throwing clothes around, cursing under his breath each time he failed to find evidence. Finally, he turned up the mattress, and found a zipper hidden under the hem along the foot of the bed. "Hello, what have we here?" Wade said, keeping the mattress propped up with a knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unzipped the mattress, and packs of cigars came falling out as the mattress practically deflated. He grabbed a few of the packs and went to work, whistling proudly as he finally found something he could work with. He had a cigar or two in his time, but the only time he had experience with marijuana, it ended in him waking up on a nest of potato chip bags and 2-liter cola bottles. Shaking off high-school shenanigans after a chuckle, he opens one of the cigar packs. As soon as he did, there was the familiar smell of marijuana again, as well as a familiar gold-leaf ribbon around the ends of the cigars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled out a pocket knife, cut one open and unrolled it. His suspicions were confirmed as he found a substance mixed in with the marijuana. The addiction, the clean-up and sudden love of Mexican culture, the cigars under the bed and this new evidence all gave Wade the answer to the crime. "Primos." Wade started out loud. "The resident of apartment 304 had back-alley connections to the Drug Cartel of Cabo San Lucas, sold some Primos under the disguise of Cigars. Considering the substance, amount and means of deals and sales... I wouldn't have faced a life sentence in jail. Unless..." He walked out to the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, the living room had changed. In fact, the apartment changed drastically as he walked through the hall. It was completely emptied, except for three things: A sturdy hook in the ceiling, a knocked-over chair, and a noose that held the body of the criminal just above the floor. "So he got busted for the drugs, finished his sentence, and when he realized he couldn't live a normal life again, he simply chose to end it all." Wade deduced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In response, the door leaving the apartment unlocked. Wade heard it, but took a moment for the man. He lit a cigarette for himself, having one more smoke while he could, and thinking about the situation. Tragic as it was, he knew the man was in the wrong, but never understood what it took to cause someone to give up on themselves. Even after the loss of his wife and daughter, Wade managed to find a reason to live. He finished his smoke break, opened his flask to take a sip, then stopped before the whiskey touched his lips. He looked to the cigarette he just stomped out, then the flasks of whiskey in his coat. He remembered Leroy's words in his office, and wondered if he really was "Alive."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a drink, closed the flask, and left the apartment. As he closed the door, he left behind his thoughts on what it means to truly live.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>301:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade watched the door be scorched and sealed a new "X," and looked over to Apartment 301. Shaking off the feelings the last case left him with, he walked right into the new apartment and braced himself for whatever the case had to throw at him. As he closed the door, hearing it lock as the lights came on, he realized he really was not ready for whatever this place may throw at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls were plastered in a disgustingly pink wallpaper filled with hearts. From the Living room, down the hall and inside the bathroom. He saw this, combined with the pure-white furniture that was shaped in hearts, and even the cheesy, overly romantic scattered rose petals across the floor. He took another swift swig of his flask, smacked his lips and declared. "Gigolo." He said, turning around and trying the door, which had not unlocked yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dammit." he cursed, and turned back to the scene he'd rather not deal with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to face the romance-novel nightmare and looked around. Oddly enough, the living room was clean of any criminal evidence. When checking the kitchen and bathroom, aside from a few items of perversion, they were clean too. He tried the main bedroom, and cringed when it was just as pink, red and white as the rest of the apartment. He turned over the mattress, looked through a bookshelf, under the bed, and turned up nothing. He started to wonder if there even was a crime to investigate here, until he hit something that he could work with. The door to the second bedroom was locked tight, and would not budge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, it would seem that whoever owned this place DID have something to hide. When he returned to the living room, it had not changed. For that matter, neither did any of the rooms, and so he still had something to find. The living room only had a television, a stereo, and a media shelf filled with DVDs and CDs. Still, it was something to search, and so he checked through each one, but to no avail. Aside from a collection of romances, comedies and the occasional horror movie, he found a secret compartment behind them that held pornographic films. He thought of his own "collection," and decided to leave this open, but alone for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Movies aside, he was ashamed to admit the owner of this apartment had the same taste in music he did, and even was a bit jealous at the collection. He looked around and stealthily pocketed a couple of CDs he wanted in his own collection. "Not like the stiff in this place is gonna miss them when I am gone." He muttered to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought about the outside, and wondered if Leroy was out there in the rain, panicking and trying to rescue Wade somehow. "Boy, this is gonna make one hell of a drinking story once I see him again." He sighed and went back to the Master bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being the only other room with a collection of items, he started sorting through the bookshelf. Wade rubbed his eyes as he looked through the books by title. There were a couple books on philosophy, psychology and anatomy, but aside from that, it was all more romance and Karma Sutra books. As Wade reached the bottom shelf, he finally found something useful: a high school yearbook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon opening it, he found that most of the students were female. Aside from one male teacher and a handful of male students, it would seem that the owner of this apartment had a connection to the school. Given the odds that the book gave him, "So the owner of this apartment is most likely a teacher, and creepy one at that." He mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In response, the lights shut off, and when they turned back on, he found himself back in the living room. The lights were now red, and the stereo was playing some soft piano music. Wade rubbed his head and looked down at the yearbook he was holding. Some of the students now had been circled, all of them female. Wade now had a sour taste forming from the back of his throat. He looked around the apartment to see what was different, and to his surprise, aside from the lighting change, the only difference was that the locked doorknob seemed worn down from being used too often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still had no I.D. on who he was even looking for, but had an idea on what the crime was to be. As he looked around, to no avail, he finally looked for the sturdiest bit of furniture he could find. Unable to find anything useful, he just takes a few steps back and starts charging into the locked door. Kicking and lunging at it with all his might, he manages to break the door off its hinges. He grabs at his shoulder, a sharp pain shooting through him as the adrenaline wears off. He looks into the room and finds a single lit candle. Taking the candle, he finds a proper light switch, and he shakes in a cold sweat before flipping it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was covered wall-to-wall in photographs of the girls from the school, most of which were nude, pornographic, or taken in a hurry. He shook his head as he found the only thing aside from the collection of photos was a desk. He opened it and found a collection of journals. He skimmed through them and what he found only made him more disgusted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Janesha: $10,000</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alison: $12,000</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Katherine: $8,000</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The list continued on for journal after journal, showing dealings where the girls had been sold into prostitution and slavery. When he matched all the students in the journal to the circled photos in the yearbook, he began suspecting the only male teacher at the school. Still, it was too early to call a suspect. He found the crime, but not the criminal. He scratched the back of his head and clicked his tongue in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking around the room, it had changed some while his attention was on journals. There were more photos, and articles of clothing, accessories, even false nails and lashes neatly organized in different sections of the room. He opened the yearbook, and more photos and names were circled among them. The male teacher's photo had been altered to a mugshot. "Seems he was arrested for this after all. So what, another suicide-ending for this bastard?" Wade started walking to the door, "I'm not going to feel guilty for some John Doe that had his way with the student body, so that should wrap up the-" Wade started, but the door remained locked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood there dumbfounded. Wade turned around, and there was the male teacher. Well, his body, with a fresh bullet-wound in the chest. The room had been torn apart, showing all kinds of signs of a conflict. The wallpaper had been ripped at, the TV was literally shot, furniture had taken some shots as well. Wade opened the yearbook once more, and the male teacher's photo had returned to normal, but now was X'd out by a red pen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The yearbook now had notes that matched the journals, and each student that had been sold now had their price under their photos. He flipped through it, and found the most expensive person in the yearbook was actually a teacher. The English teacher, who was quite seductive-looking, had sold for almost millions. Wade stared at this and started to piece the puzzle together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked to the door, took a sip of his flask and cleared his throat. "First, the woman of this apartment had sold her own body, then became adrenalized with the thrill of sex and money. When she realized she could make money off of her own body, she would trick her students into coming home with her, have her way with them, then sell them off to a sex slave market once she was done with them. In an attempt to silence the rest, she made an example of killing the only person who found her out. In the end," He opened the yearbook, and all the photos of the circled girls had become those of adults, "the girls became women, and took her to her Life-Sentence." Wade finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while, the door finally unlocked. Wade put the yearbook down and left the apartment quickly. Once he closed the door, and watched it seal with the usual X, he checked his pockets for the CDs he appropriated earlier. They all had either shattered, or had some bullet holes added. "Well... damn. It was worth a shot at least." He sipped his flask and moved on, hoping the next apartment will be less pink.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>202:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade checked the rest of the third floor, and made sure all the doors were sealed off. Starting down the stairs, he made his way to the only apartment that was left open on the second floor: Apartment 202. He looked around to make sure it was the only one, then made his way in. As with the last two, he had to close the door before he could see what the apartment looked like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the lights came on, Wade had to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. The entire apartment may as well have been a time machine: The walls were made of  brick now, rather than drywall, and there were tin signs next to Sepia photographs along the walls. "What the, did I just jump into the Great Depression?" Wade snarked, looking around slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he walked around, an old radio turned on, and started broadcasting one of Muhammad Ali's early boxing matches. He blinked in surprise, realizing that he actually had been jumping through time since he came to this apartment in the first place. Time-stamping today at the early 1960's, he secretly enjoyed listening to Muhammad make his stand while looking around for his next case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swept through the kitchen, finding a bottle of rum in the fridge, a meat grinder, some tomato juice, a knife set and some ground meat. He walked down the hall and into the spare room, where he found a collection of vinyl records, a phonograph and a scrapbook sitting on a rocking chair. He quickly peeked into the Bedroom, and all that was inside was a Bed and a surprisingly barren closet. Given what he has to work with, he decides to take the scrapbook, sit back and give it a good read.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It began with a surprisingly tender series of wedding photos. It was a young husband and wife, smiling happily on their wedding night. He sifted through pictures of the wedding, the reception, the honeymoon, their move to this apartment... it all brought back memories of his wife, Theresa, and their daughter, Gabrielle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>9XX Plainridge View Condominiums</span>
</p><p>
  <span>8/15/19XX 13:35:27</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Theresa Johnson remained a blushing bride, weeks after the wedding. She was humming along to the radio as her husband Wade drove the truck they rented for moving their furniture. He tapped the wheel to the rhythm of the radio as he neared their new condominium. It was in a section of land outside of town, and the community was quiet and calm. She smiled and danced in her seat as she saw their new home. "Oh, this is so exciting! Isn't it great Wade?!" Theresa may as well have been a child on Christmas eve with the way she was bouncing off the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade parked the truck, unbuckled, and gave his wife a tender kiss. "Let's be excited about it once we’ve moved in." He laughed as he exited the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Running around to open the door for his wife, he lets her out so she can explore their new house. Another car parks just in front of where Wade had. The couple waved to their extra set of hands: Leroy Arinth. Leroy got out of his car and announced himself proudly. "THE MUSCLE," He flexed his arms, kissing both his biceps, " HAS ARRIVED!" He declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade and Theresa gave Leroy a pair of wolf-whistles and laughed. "Am I gonna have to confiscate those firearms, skippy?" Wade joked as he opened the truck with all their furniture inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theresa went inside to start cleaning while the young cops went to work. Wade and Leroy started with some boxes to put in their garage, then moved on to the big furniture so the boxes would have somewhere to be unpacked. A few hours later, they finished moving the big stuff, Theresa came around with a couple lemonades and pizza slices. "Good work!" she smiled and kissed her husband, "My big, strong boys." She smiled and joined them for dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy smirked and thanked Theresa for dinner. Wade smiled as the three of them happily shared a meal, celebrating not only the move and the wedding, but also Wade's promotion to Corporal. As they finished the pizza, the sun began setting, and so Leroy packed up and made tracks for home. As he left, the newlyweds began unpacking their boxes from the garage into the condo, and happily enjoyed  each other's company.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>By the time they finished all the unpacking, the moon was high in the night sky, and the stars sparkled brighter than they ever did in the city. Theresa leaned on Wade’s shoulder and looked up at the ethereal delight. She pecked his cheek and hummed as she walked into their new bedroom for the night. Wade sipped at a beer and watched the moon a while longer, then went to join his wife, and begin his happy future with her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>202:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>...That’s how it was supposed to go anyway. Instead, Wade finished the flask in his hand and sighed. He was greedy about being promoted again once Gabrielle was nearing  the age to begin school. He took a case he should never have, and it cost him the life of his wife and daughter. The broken door, the bullet wounds, the damaged furniture… the entire scene was forever burned into Wade’s mind, and remains his cross to bear for his own arrogance.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He slammed the photo album shut and threw it at the wall. His memories clouding his judgement as he looks around for evidence pertaining to whatever case this apartment held. Looking back on where the album had fallen, the last page of it held a single photograph:</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The wife at her husband’s funeral.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Something about it was… off. The Photo was stained in red on the sides, and along the woman’s hands. Though, it was hard to tell what was a stain, and what was actually photographed. At that moment, something crossed Wade’s mind and he returned to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There was now a foul smell in the air, and the radio was shut off. He followed the smell to the refrigerator, and opened it to find packs of spoiled ground beef. The labels were too smudged to read, but the smell was one Wade knew all too well. “The wife… murdered the husband, and served him for dinner.” He declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments, the door clicked as it unlocked. Wade shuddered and hurried out of the apartment, hoping the next two cases will be easier on his stomach.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>103:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Wade groaned softly, trying not to think of the burger he ate when this all started, as he went down the stairs and made his way to the final floor. All that was left were apartments 103, 107 and 108. He walked to 103, being the closest door to him, held the door knob for a moment while clearing his head, and entered the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The first thing Wade notices is a series of paintings along the walls, which caused the room to reek of oils. He snorted and looked around at all the artwork and sculptures that decorated the apartment. “Who the hell lives in an apartment when they have THIS kind of money?” He snarked under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Upon further investigation, the fridge only contained various bottles of alcohol, the Bedroom had no bed, the closet had no clothes and even the bathroom only contained packs of rubber gloves. Wade attempted to light a smoke, but the bizarre force returned to stop his lighter once again. He swore as he walked to the living room again. Adjusting to the smell of oil paints, he observed the painting carefully, finally smelling something other than the paints: Rubber from the gloves, and traces of Mustache oil.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He went back to the bathroom and confiscated one of the packs of rubber gloves for evidence. Upon returning to the Living room, some of the paintings have been shifted around, or replaced. As Wade looked around, he already deduced that this was a case of art theft. However, the rubber gloves and smell of mustache oil were hardly enough evidence to make an accusation. “Alright… got the crime, now I just need the criminals.” He muttered and scratched his head.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>This was proving to be easier said than done. Whoever took the art not only took incredible care of the goods, but in doing so, left next to no trace of their presence in the apartment altogether. The Apartment was scrubbed, vacuumed, swept and dusted clean every time it changed as Wade walked back and forth for what felt like years worth of changes. “Dammit! Just who the hell am I dealing with now?!” He yelled as he opened his last flask and sipped at the Whiskey inside.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As the alcohol hit his lips, he realized something: The liquor in the fridge. He put on a pair of gloves, gabbed all the bottles in the fridge and observed them under a light carefully. Finally, he found fingerprint smudges across a few of the bottles. Instinctively, he dusted them and got multiple sets of fingerprints with a smile. “Finally, I just gotta get these to the boys in the lab and-...” His words trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Suddenly remembering his situation, he cursed and punched the wall. He was stuck in this apartment until he could solve the crime. He kept the fingerprints, and at least took them as evidence that more than one person was involved. Frustrated and Angry, he finally snapped and grabbed one of the paintings from the wall, ready to throw it out of sheer spite. It flew and the frame shattered against the wall. Upon realizing his temper got the better of him, he swore again and went to gather the parts of the painting up. The busted frame had revealed something: a small slip of paper that was hastily moved into a notch carved into the lower section of the back of the frame. Wade picked it up and gave it a quick read. “Hello, what have we here?” he mumbled aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Please Do Not Touch the Paintings - Director Jason Clarke</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>It was not much, but it gave Wade a name, and as he flipped it over, he found a note made in Pencil.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>$4,500,000 - 01/13</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>The handwriting on the back did not match the front. Between this and the name, Wade started to remember about a Museum Heist case that Leroy had solved. Jason Clarke had been accused of stealing from his own museum, but was found innocent. Wade had cursed himself, because this was solved while he was gone on his Honeymoon. He tried very hard to remember the case file, which he had read once he had returned to work. He squinted his eyes and tried really hard to remember. “I remember… Jason was convicted because people found traces of his mustache oil on the paintings… but Leroy proved that was normal because he handled the paintings for the museum along with… the Janitor and the Vice-Director, who were brothers…” He cursed as he failed to remember the names, or how Leroy proved them guilty.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He made an attempt to call Leroy, but all he got was static. He needed proof of the duo committing the crime at least, but the Apartment remained clean, aside from the fingerprints. There had to be something. He looked into the sculptures that took up the bedroom, and found one that always remained exactly where it was. He attempted to lift it, and found it had been super-glued to the table. However, it felt hollow, and Wade’s patience was wearing thin. He lifted the table and slammed it into the wall, with a hearty yell.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Among the shattered sculpture pieces, he finally found what he wanted: a checkbook and a notepad used for bookkeeping. He read through and finally got the names, and the way to prove how the case was solved. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This Apartment was used as a storehouse by Jason Clarke, but the ones who transported the Art back and forth were the Vice Director and the Janitor. This last painting was requested for a donation, and Jason approved the donation, but the painting had already been illegally sold on the Black Market. So when it came time to return the art, it was missing, and the pair was found guilty and arrested in Jason Clarke’s place.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Some time passed, and the door clicked open. Wade smiled, but as he left the apartment and stood in the hall, he remembered something that raised a question: The painting in question was never found, so how did Leroy know, or prove what had transpired?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>108:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shaking off the question his mind raised from 103, he made his way to Apartment 107. When he reached to grab the handle, he gave it a twist and it broke off. He stared at the busted doorknob in his hand and felt his blood boil and chill at the same time. “Well damn, how am I supposed to solve the case if I can’t get in?!” He yelled.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>In response, a laugh track played on the speaker, which was shortly ended by Wade chucking the doorknob into said speaker as hard as he could. Fuming, he went over to Apartment 108, and had a cold sweat go down his spine. This was the apartment he was dreading the most, for he already knew which case he was walking into. It was the case that ruined his career. It was the case that cost him his wife and daughter. It was the case that, as he opened the door and entered, was what the last few years of his life had all come together to solve once and for all.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The Glass-Eye Murders.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He closed the door behind him, sipped his whiskey, and was greeted with… a surprisingly simple apartment. There was a Green throw rug, a Grey couch, a Box TV on a Chestnut entertainment center, and bookshelves filled with novels, VHS tapes and CDs. The VCR was in prime condition, and the room was kept pretty clean. The walls were painted brown, and kept a surprisingly relaxed feeling in the apartment. Wade felt as if he were walking through a cabin in a forest, rather than an apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The kitchen was fully stocked with all-natural, healthy and fresh ingredients. Not a drop of alcohol to be found, aside from cooking wine that is. The Bathroom was kept clean, organized and smelled fresh. Mostly, it contained beauty and health products for women, some scented candles and bubble baths. The smell was not overpowering at all though, despite the many scented items in the room. Surprised even further by the normality of the apartment he was in, Wade made his way to the bed room.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span> It was just as nature-oriented as the rest of the apartment. The room contained only a bed, a dresser, a large wall-mirror and a closet that only had petite women’s clothing. He sat on the bed, and remembered the casefile he wrote himself. The victims were all women, who had been killed, had their eyes removed, and replaced with false glass eyes. There were eight murders total, the last two being his own wife and daughter. The police had believed that there were multiple people involved with these murders, but Wade was the only one to explore the concept of a single killer. He found that the most of the murders had happened exactly two months from each other, and while only the last two happened in this city, the other six happened in the towns surrounding its borders.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He began searching the Apartment, turning up nothing suspicious. The only thing that showed a pattern was the media in the living room. All the Movies were about beautiful women going through cheesy romance scenarios, difficult life struggles, and all had a happy, wonderful ending. The books also followed this pattern, but the CDs only shared the factor of all-female artists that happened to be attractive as well. Aside from this, and the forested feeling of the apartment, there was nothing else to go on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade felt his sobriety return, and went to drink his last flask entirely, but then stopped and stared at it. He saw his reflection in his flask, and could hear the voices of his wife and daughter. They were laughing together, crying together, fighting with each other, forgiving each other, and most of all, loving each other. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt himself choke out a cry, and then a furious scream. He took his flask and threw it without aiming, and accidentally shattered the wall-mirror. His head was still swirling with the rush of emotions and guilt filling his mind and his heart. He cried, he screamed, he let out everything that he had held in his chest for years, and lost consciousness on the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>9XX Plainridge View Condominiums</span>
</p><p>
  <span>10/13/20XX 02:47:55</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Wade rubbed his eyes and yawned as he drove home from another late night in the office. The Head of police, Alfred, had put an invisible weight on Wade’s shoulders. Alfred let Wade know that he was thinking of retiring, and thinking of passing the position to Wade, who showed a lot of promise. Wade, eager to prove his worth, took on the Glass-Eye Murder Case off of Alfred’s desk, and immediately went to work. Only Leroy knew what Wade had done, and was just as excited to see his best friend’s talent recognized. Leroy had even offered to help him solve the case, but Wade turned him down and smirked confidently to him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That was almost a month ago, and Wade was not only losing sleep, but confidence and funds as well. His daughter was ready to go to a prestigious school, get a higher education, and his wife was talking about wanting to have a special garden. He wanted to make his family happy and proud. His motivation was restored as he thought of his beloved wife and daughter, and so he left his car, eager to see their happy faces. Instead, he was greeted with the door unlocked and open.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Frantically readying his gun, he entered his home, and found the lifeless bodies of his wife and daughter in the living room. Shock set in, and he went completely numb as he called the police. He fell to his knees and only stared at their bodies, the image forever being burned into his very being. Once the police arrived, Wade had to be forcibly removed from the scene, and spent the night in the detention center under suspicion of their murder. Leroy was able to clear his name, and prove that he was at the office during the time of their murder.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shortly after, the drinking began, and Wade lost his job, used what savings he had to open his own Office of Investigation, and did the only thing he could do: Use his investigative talents to not only keep himself afloat, but to continue his obsession over the case more than ever before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>108:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Wade woke up, tears having flowed from his eyes as he relived the night he lost everything. Getting up and shaking his head, he looked around the room, and found the only change was the one he made himself: The Broken Wall Mirror. He got up and went to pick up his flask, but then an odd smell crossed his sinuses. Looking up to the mirror, he picked up the smell of Formaldehyde, and other preservation chemicals. He removed the mirror from the wall and found a hole, perfectly carved in the wall. It was too dark to see inside, but it was his only lead. So he climbed through the wall, and found himself in a dark room. The mirror reformed behind him, sealing him inside. He reached for his lighter, but with the chemical smell, decided not to light it, and waited for his eyes to adjust enough to find a light switch. Instead, he was greeted with a chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Took you long enough to find me, Officer Wade.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>107:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>???</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Wade readied his gun, and shouted into the darkness. “Who’s there?! I am armed and WILL fire!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There was only a giggle in response. “If you do, I will simply kill you, like I did the rest. Besides, I know you already know who I am Wade Johnson.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He detested being toyed with more than anything, but all he could do was sigh. “Can you at least turn on the damn lights? I want to see the face of the elusive Glass-Eye Killer.” He kept his tone clear and confident.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The lights turned on, and in the room with him was a young woman. She looked like a teenager, but carried herself like an adult as she walked about the room. Aside from them, the door had been sealed off with wooden planks and nails, but he already knew he was in the bedroom of Apartment 107. Wade quickly scanned the room and found a knife, washable silicone gloves, scissors, and Jars that contained Human eyeballs, and the chemical compound needed to preserve them. “I see you’re admiring my collection.” She chuckled. “Beautiful, are they not?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span> Wade lowered his weapon and growled at her. “Cut the Crap, why are you doing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The woman stared at him and spoke clear as well, sounding more like a grown woman now. “I am here to clear my name.” She started, walking around and admiring the six jars on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“See, this apartment has many spirits that have already been damned for what they have done while alive. I used them to test the deductive skills of those who came here. Those who failed… Well, you’ll find their parts in the walls.” She said with a wicked smile. “You, Wade Johnson, are the only one to find me, and I find that rather ironic really.” She laughed to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade was trying more than ever to not lose his temper. He needed to keep calm and not provoke her in order to get the information he wanted. “Ironic?” He began replying, “Would it be just as ironic if you were found by someone else related to your… precious collection?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The girl smiled and looked him in the eyes. “No. It had to be you who found me.” She strutted and ran a hand down his arm, whispering up to his ear. “Because you deserve to know the truth, and solve the crime that took your family from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She smiled and walked to her collection, while Wade stood, shaking from the rage he held in his throat. “Catherine Synstly,” Wade cleared his throat and continued as she froze in place “ Sara Thrins, Beth Trice, Aryn Cliff, Danielle Tressi, Clarice Mylon… Then finally, Theresa and Gabrielle Johnson.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She smiled and looked at him. “See? I knew you did your homework. Now, can you figure out my name?” Her smile faded as she stared.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade stood there, remembering everything he compiled himself. “It was dismissed by the others, but I found a small file in the suicide case that seemed off to me. I could only guess it was connected by pure instinct, so I spent all the night trying to link the suicide to the glass-eye murders. However, no one would come to learn the connection I made, because that was the night my wife and daughter were taken from me.” He looked to the six jars on the table and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Seeing this is all I need to know to confirm my hunch.” He looked back to the young woman. “Your name is Mary Naglis, age 18, and you are the daughter of the owner of the Naglis Apartments.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Mary applauded him and laughed happily. “I KNEW you could do it!” She jumped and kissed his cheek. “Now, remember what you are here for?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“To solve the crimes in each apartment, including yours.” Wade spoke with a low and menacing tone.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Indeed, but that is not all.” She admired her collection once more. “You are also here to prove a crime I am innocent of, and it seems you already know the answer yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade struggled to accept it, but the truth was staring at him quite literally. “Let me ask you a question then Mary…” Wade walked around the table, “Where are the eyes of my Wife and Daughter?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As he asked the question, he felt his heart sink. The image of his family’s bodies remained burned in his eyes, and the M.O. had matched with her killings, which lead him to question if the suicide was still connected to the murders. This revelation shook his very being, and filled him with more anger, and yet chilled his blood colder than ever before. He was too scared to admit he may already know the answer, but he asked again anyway. “I spent years of my life looking for their supposed killer. I ruined my life over it. I deserve an answer, and you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The room began shaking around him as the lights rattled on and off. Wade’s head felt heavy as a sudden, vibrating pressure came over his body. He fell to the floor and lost consciousness as Mary’s final words echoed in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why don’t you ask the owner of that missing painting?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Naglis Apartments:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>10/24/20XX 13:01:13</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade groaned as he slowly got off the floor of the Naglis Apartments hallway, finding the  entrance was clear of debris. He stood up, realizing he was fine, and walked out of the apartments to find his best friend Leroy waiting for him. He was surprised to find Wade coming out already. “Good lord Wade, it’s only been two minutes! Did you find something already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two Minutes?! Wade was dumbfounded. He thought Leroy would be more panicked over the crazy lightning storm, but was that a dream? Wade thought carefully, remembering everything that transpired up until now. “...check the walls.” He said after clearing his throat, “There was definitely something inside of them. Could be your boys, but that was all I found.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy nodded. “You heard him, men! Find a way to check the walls, but be careful! The killer may still be at large!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade groaned and sipped his whiskey, but then a thought crossed his mind. He looked at Leroy carefully, and stepped away to make a call and check if his cell phone worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confirming his phone worked, he waved to Leroy with a friendly smile. “Hey friend. About my fee. How about we discuss it at the usual bar?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leroy looked at him and smirked, “That confident, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade smiled back. “I solve every case I take. This one is no exception. I’ll see you there tonight.” and then Wade left the scene without saying a word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside the Dugout Dive</span>
</p><p>
  <span>10/24/20XX 19:37:51</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy came to find Wade already outside, smoking a cigarette and holding a beer in a plastic cup. As Leroy smiled and walked over to his friend, Wade waved Leroy over and away from the door. “You know, we have been friends for a long time now, Leroy.” Wade tapped the cigarette and offered Leroy a smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy took the cigarette and smiled. “Indeed we have.” He lit the cigarette and puffed a cloud of smoke, “So, what is the fee, old friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade cleared his throat. “Tell you what, if you can answer my questions, consider the fee paid.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy was caught off-guard, but shrugged it off “Sure thing Wade, ask away!” he replied to his friend, seeing the booze of the day seems to have hit Wade’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade coughed and wobbled a bit, “Say, remember that Museum Heist from forever ago?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy smiled proudly, “Of course! I managed to surprise you by doing it myself before you got back!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade smiled and chuckled with a hiccup, “You sure did! Hey uh… ever find out what happened to that painting anyway? I remembered one was never found.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy enjoyed the cigarette for a moment and let out a long puff, “No clue, but who cares? That case was closed, and no one bothered to look for it before, so why now?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade’s smile faded, “It was finally found in an abandoned storage garage two towns over, away from the public eye.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy’s smile began fading as Wade dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. “I ask because the previous owner of that garage, apparently, was you. Also speaking of eye’s…” Wade readied his gun and held it up to Leroy, ending the drunken act. “Care to tell me what happened to the eyes of my Wife and Daughter?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy stared at Wade and slowly grinned. “What, you’re going to shoot me? Come on, we’re friends Wade. You know I am only here to help you.” Leroy pulled out his own gun. “All they did was hold you back, Wade! Do you see how smart you are on your own, without them getting in your way?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade only got angrier by the second as he pressed the gun to Leroy’s cheek, ready to pull the trigger. “Why wait Wade? Just kill me! If you do, you get your revenge, and I have done my part for your future. No one will ever-” Leroy was cut off by the cocking of several firearms from the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The Police, lead by Alfred himself, were all watching the scene unfold. They heard Leroy’s confession, but the man’s smile only grew bigger. Wade kept his gun trained on Leroy and slowly backed away. “Lieutenant Leroy S. Arinth, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice, as well as the murders of Theresa and Gabrielle Johnson.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Leroy slowly got on his knees and laughed. “Justice will have a new name,” he swiftly brought his own gun to his head, “and that name is Wade Johnson!” He declared before pulling the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The shot echoed through the night. No one said anything. The police gathered Leroy’s body from Wade’s line of sight. Wade shook, holding his gun where Leroy stood. Alfred slowly walked to Wade, and put his hand on the poor Detective’s shoulder. Wade slowly lowered his gun and looked to Chief Alfred. “I thought you were going to retire, old man?” Wade tried to shake off with shock.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Alfred sighed, “Leroy was the one who tried to talk me into retiring, so that the position would open up for you. In truth… I still feel you deserve more than I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Wade chugged the beer and shook his head. “I’m better off solving crimes from the background with my good friends; Whiskey and Gin.” Wade walked off into the night, letting the night air clear his head as he crossed the street, and entered his office building.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Case Notes:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>-The Glass Eye Murders: Solved</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>-The Art Theft of the Clarke Museum: Solved</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>-The Murders of the Johnson Family: Solved</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>I had quite the busy day today. Seems that whatever happened while I was unconscious in those apartments was true. I found all the case files in the Records Hall, thanks to Alfred. He offered me a position again, but I turned him down and gave him a bill for my services instead. The old man actually paid me, and said he will keep my number on file.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I am… relieved for the first time in years. I have accepted the loss of my family, and in finding justice for them, I feel like I can move on with my life.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I looked into paranormal cases, and it turns out the supernatural are… kind of everywhere and anywhere they wanna be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Who knows? Maybe this last case will become the beginning of the next chapter of my life as a Paranormal Investigator instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>-P.I. Wade Johnson, signing off.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a trial for a potential series of stories.</p><p>Originally meant to be a one-off, but I admittedly love writing for the main character. So I am considering this a springboard for a potential Mystery Series.</p><p>If you read this, please comment your thoughts on the story, and let me know if you want more!</p><p>-Sincerely, Mangabaka777</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>